


Longing

by DiamondScribe (DiamondSuits)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:26:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8019238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondSuits/pseuds/DiamondScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And I have learned that even landlocked lovers yearn for the sea like navy men. -Death Cab for Cutie, Brothers on a Hotel Bed</p>
            </blockquote>





	Longing

Aban doesn't sleep soundly that night. He used to, in the past, back when things were simple and he didn't have to deal with holes in the sky or men craving godhood or the weight of hundreds, if not thousands of people relying on his success to live. But then he considers magic and maniacs and the mercenary crews, and wryly wonders if anything in his life has ever been simple.

Probably not. He knows enough to realize that everything looks better when you don't have it. That thought is hard to abide by, though, because as he steps out onto the balcony and takes a deep deep breath until his lungs hurt from the cold, he finds that the mountain air leaves much to be desired. Don't get him wrong- It's wondrous to see everything in creation stretching out beneath you. Skyhold is the kind of place where an Inquisition can safely rest and observe the world around it. The sky's just as wide open as the sky above the sea, only so much closer.

But still.

He longs for what he had before. The waves are endless there, stretching out in all directions, seemingly into eternity. There's nothing but the sea and the sky and the wind, nothing but the laughter of the crew and the prickle of sun on your shoulders and the ache in your muscles from a day well worked. When he closes his eyes, he can see it. The sun glitters over the surf. Birds call overhead. And his heart aches with want of it all. It's so close, that he can just taste the salt on the air...

And then strong arms encircle him from behind. Just like that, his dream is shattered, leaving him with an odd emptiness yawning in his chest and a sigh in his throat.

"Your hand was glowing again." Bull's voice is low and rough from sleep- rough with concern too, as wild as that seems. "It bothering you?"

"No." The lie comes immediately. His palm stings a little and Aban suspects that the whirling vortex within it is the stem of several various nightmares that've been looping over and over in his head (all involving green and howling). Bull makes a noise like he doesn't believe him, so Aban is eternally grateful when he doesn't mention it and instead presses a kiss to the back of his neck.

"You didn't have to get up," he says before Bull can tell him something sweet. "I'm sorry I woke you."

The way Bull snorts into his hair is all he needs to know that his apologies won't matter here.

"Don't worry about it, kadan. Was probably going to wake up for a piss soon anyway." It's a crude statement, one that someone probably shouldn't say to their lover (or to the so called Herald of Andraste either), so Aban can't help but laugh. He tilts his head back far enough to kiss the underside of his jaw. The way his rounded horns jab against Bull as he does so can't be comfortable, but Bull's chest rumbles like he wouldn't have it any other way. He smiles, tilts his head enough to kiss the tip of Aban's nose.

"As fun as this is, you need your rest. Those Orlesians are slippery bastards even when you're not exhausted."

Aban sighs just because he knows that Bull's right. As daunting as tomorrow feels (not to mention the day after that, and the day after that, and all the days following will be heavy with anticipation, like the air before a summer storm) it feel right to be here. Bull's breath steaming in the chill air reminds him of fog rolling across the sea, those calloused hands on his hips so close to the harsh bite of rope in his palms. When he leans back and feels the thudding of the heart against his shoulder, he's reminded of it all. Bull's scent as the open air, Bull's warmth as the glow of a battle well won, Bull's arms as strong as the sea, cradling him and protecting him as the ocean does to all of her precious secrets, held close and safe in the deep dark warmth.

"Just a little longer," Aban says.


End file.
